


Forced Memory

by dasheranne



Series: D&D: Runes of Resonance [2]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Runes of Resonance
Genre: Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition, Family Issues, Original Character(s), Parent Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 02:41:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17014047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dasheranne/pseuds/dasheranne
Summary: Clancy receives a message meant specifically for him. With the contents taken care of, now he needs to reflect on the way it was delivered.





	Forced Memory

Clancy slumped into his room, emptying his pockets onto the small desk by his bed. He'd acquired a few more odd little objects for his collection today; a music box from a stranger and a small nub of what appeared to be their missing horn. He ran a hand through his messy hair, pushing his bangs up and out of his face. What was he supposed to do with that? Would they want it back soon, or would it be better to wait until he had the rest of it as well? He sighed and shook his head.

He started lining them up with the other oddities at the back of his desk. What was he supposed to do with any of these things? It had been a long time since he’d allowed himself these kinds of trinkets; his viol and his locket were really his only physical reminders of the past. They were easy to keep track of on the road. Now that he was settled, he had a row of odds and ends that grew with each different escapade with his team. His inventory was growing into something he couldn’t reasonably keep on his person at all times. It made him feel a little giddy.

He ran his hand down the line. A moonstone from the manor. A jar filled with teeth from the displacer beast tentacle. The mirrorless compact from Elylon. And now he had a music box.

He’d always admired music boxes, honestly. He liked to peek inside to work out how such a small instrument made such a sweet sound. It had been a while since he’d seen one, maybe since he...

He was stalling and he knew it. He could spend all the time he wanted lining up his collection at the back of his desk, but if he wanted to trance at all tonight he needed to acknowledge the elephant in the room.

He picked up the music box and sat himself on his bed. After a moment he shuffled to put his back against the wall for added security. He traced his fingers lightly over the edges of the music box, focusing on the simplistic design of it as he let the feelings come to him.

He'd seen her again. This thing had tapped into his memories, trying to give him a message. That didn’t matter anymore, it was dealt with. What he couldn’t get over was the fact that _he’d seen her again_ , for the first time in decades. She was there, clear as day, sitting in that awful room once again with not much to pass the time but a window by the bed. How many hours had he spent there with her, telling her about the outside world? Updating her on what she was too weak to go see for herself. Playing her music and keeping her company. Using the wonderful gift of a viol to bring any brightness he could to her life.

Of course, that wasn’t the only thing bothering him. It was nice to see her again, to reassure himself he wouldn’t forget anything about her. But he’d also heard _him_.

A deeper, stern voice, arguing with a younger version of himself. The words were different, but the tense feeling in the air was the same. Had she really heard them so clearly? Had she heard the bickering, and the constant unease? She must have, he’d had no problem raising his voice to defend her. He winced. She had to sit there, listening to her family argue about her illness. She had to hear her own son, yelling until his throat was raw, about the care she deserved. She had to listen to her own husband firmly refuse to go out of his way to help her.

In her lowest moments, he refused to leave his work. He sat at his desk as she withered away down the hall.

Clancy clenched his fists, digging his nails into his palms. Tears streamed down his face, but he ignored them for the moment. That bastard was still out there, sitting at that fucking desk. Did he even visit her grave? Did he make sure it was cared for out of a feeling of guilt, or out of social obligation? Gods, Clancy wished he could go see her without running into him. He shook his head. That was one of the consequences he'd had to accept when he left. He knew she would be taken care of, but he'd be the one to remember her properly. Even if it was from another plane.

He sat up, placing the music box on the corner of his desk for consideration as he grabbed his journal. He plopped back down and flipped through it until he found the next page. It was time to tell her what he’d been up to today.

**Author's Note:**

> Back at it again with those feelings! I'll write him something happy soon.


End file.
